The Griffon Association
by Premortal
Summary: What would happen if a young Harry was taken by the mysterious Griffon Association, a notorious group of professional Hit Wizards? Unfortunately, we don't get to find out, as on his first mission a series of unfortunate events results in him being thrust into an alternate timeline... Powerful(not super)!Harry, Manipulative(Not evil)!Dumbledore, No Slash, Time Travel.
1. Chapter 1: Bullies and Griffons

A/N: 'Ello guvna. So, this is going to be my first (and hopefully successful) attempt at writing a piece of HP Fanfiction. Don't get me wrong, I've done it before, but never published it. This should be interesting.

In any case, if someone would like to beta for me, drop me a message. Oh, and I'm British, so my spellings may differ from what you're used to. With that cleared up, onto the story.

-x-

As the cold darkness slowly fled from Privet Drive, a young boy began to awaken. Sitting up in his makeshift bed and fumbling around for his glasses, he fought off the disorientation that comes with an hours sleep.

His night had been plagued by nightmares. The same nightmares that had been bothering him for the past year, in fact. Harry knew it was odd for a six-year old to have the same nightmares repeatedly – but he always put it off as nerves. After all, school was hard when you were the neighbourhood 'freak'.

He knew that the green light capturing his vision and the scream of the woman was something he recognised. The roar of the motorbike was the same, in that he seemed to experience an eerie sense of _deja-vu_ every time he had this dream. Of course, Harry was a six year old and such vocabulary was beyond him. Nevertheless, he stood shakily, bending slightly as to not bang his head on the ceiling of his cupboard.

He knew he was small for his age, and yet for the last few months he had started hitting his head on the slanted ceiling of his dwelling. His head bore a few bumps for a while as a result, but he'd quickly learnt to bend down when getting dressed.

Shrugging on the oversized bottle grey jumper and half-shredded jeans, he stepped outside of his cupboard and made his way across the hall to the kitchen. He grabbed a stool from the counter, and placed it just below the refrigerator, where he climbed up and pulled hard on the door, opening it and revealing the contents. Bacon, sausages, a dozen eggs and some orange juice displayed prominently on the highest shelf, just to make it difficult.

He reached up precariously and managed to grab the items before falling backwards off of his stool, bringing it down with a large thwack. Harry groaned, awaiting the tell-tale sound of his Uncle-

"BOY!"

Harry quickly picked up the retrieved food before quickly firing up the grill and getting started on breakfast. The Dursleys' had trained him last summer to cook, and once finding out he possessed an innate skill for it, had him preparing most meals every day.

His Uncle thundered down the stars, face tinged with purple over his rude awakening. It was only 5a.m, after all, and Mr. Dursley was not one to wake early.

"Y-yes, sir?" Harry squeaked, eyes locked on the floor and shoulders slumped.

"Can you not do something as simple as cooking without destroying the kitchen, freak?" Vernon practically growled through his bushy moustache.

"I-I fell, s-sir. I-I…"

Vernon fixed the boy with his beady eyes, before waddling back upstairs muttering about "freakish children" and their "hocus pocus." Harry's uncle often said things like this when he thought Harry wasn't listening, and Harry had no idea what he meant.

Proceeding with breakfast preparations, Harry noticed Dudley attempt to tiptoe down the stairs nearly an hour later. Of course, Harry was used to his cousin's antics, and made sure to keep an ear out for that creaky step at all times. He watched the great lump 'sneak' into the kitchen with great lumbering strides, before grinning maliciously and alternating between staring at Harry and the unopened box of perfect eggs.

Harry paled, realising what his cousin was going to do and knowing he was powerless to stop him. Dudley grabbed the pack of eggs and pushed them off of the counter, and Harry could only stare as they landed, face down, on the perfect kitchen floor; scattering their contents across the kitchen.

"MUUUUUUUM! THE FREAK BROKE THE EGGS!" screamed Dudley, his eyes glinting with amusement.

Harry panicked, his eyes widening as Petunia Dursley attempted to daintily glide down the stairs, where in all actuality she moved like an elephant imitating a lioness. He looked at the floor, begging the eggs to clean themselves up and return to the counter. Petunia's footsteps came closer and closer, stepping on the precarious creaky step as he panicked.

Before his eyes, the eggs began to reform and repair themselves; the yolk and egg forming a perfect oval before being sealed with the scattered pieces of shell. One by one they glided into the box, which was now set perfectly on top of the counter.

Dudley and Harry both watched this scene with a level of awe and disbelief. This wasn't going to last for long, however, as Petunia chose this moment to walk in.

"What's wrong, Dudders?" the stick-thin woman inquired as she surveyed her perfect kitchen.

"M-mum, h-he did freaky things! F-flying eggs!" Dudley stepped back from Harry as if in fear, and hugged his mother's legs.

Petunia glared at Harry, her nostrils flaring and eyes telling of a punishment. This had only happened once before, when he was four; Dudley had pushed him over but instead of falling, he floated to the ground landing without so much as a scrape.

"Don't worry my little Duddykins, Daddy will sort out the boys freakishness," Petunia cooed, calming the panicking Dudley. "Vernon! The boy is being a freak again!"

If it was possible, Harry would have paled more at this point. He knew what happened when his Uncle caught wind of 'freakishness' and it usually resulted in more than one bruise and a day or two in the cupboard.

Vernon practically ran into the room, as much as his rotund figure would allow, and grabbed Harry by the scruff of his neck, pinning him against the wall and spitting in his face as he spoke.

"What, WHAT have we told you about such FREAKISHNESS IN OUR HOUSE, BOY? EITHER YOU CONTROL IT OR—"

"_Everte Statum._"

Vernon was ripped away from Harry as the light-blue light sent him flying into the kitchen and through the French patio doors, hitting the wall at the back of the garden and falling to the floor in a daze.

In the doorway of Number 12 Private Drive stood a man dressed in very strange attire. Clothed in a billowing grey cloak that ran all the way down to his odd boots that Harry assumed was made out of some animal. This was not the strangest thing about the man though; no, the strangest thing was that he was holding a wooden stick which had just launched his uncle through the back garden.

Harry regarded the man with a curious look, wondering just how he had managed to launch his uncle, and whether or not he could learn how to do it too. The man calmly stepped through the threshold of the home, pocketing his wooden stick before turning to Harry.

"Hello there, son. What's your name?"

Harry regarded the man cautiously. His teacher had told him all about 'stranger danger' and how you should never accept anything from a strange man; but then again, this man had just launched his uncle across the room, so he must be pretty cool.

"Harry Potter, sir."

The man's eyes widened very slightly. However, that was the only sign he really understood what Harry had said, because his features had not changed during the interaction.

"A pleasure, Mr. Potter. I go by Mr. Sanders."

Harry nodded, and the man held his hand out for him to shake. Harry placed his considerably smaller hand in the mans, and shook with a limp grip.

"Mr. Sanders, can I ask a question?"

Mr. Sanders nodded, not taking his eyes away from his lightning bolt scar.

"What was that you did to my Uncle?"

Once again, Mr. Sanders eyes widened slightly, as he sighed.

"I feared this might be the case. Harry Potter raised among bloody muggles, what _were_ they thinking…" Mr. Sanders sighed. "Come, Mr. Potter, we have much to discuss. Take my arm."

Harry hesitated. His teacher had told him never to go with a stranger if he wasn't with another adult he knew. But anywhere was better than here, Harry thought. He grabbed the mans' arm, before feeling a strong tugging in his navel.

He stumbled and fell to the ground, looking around. He was in a relatively dark room, lit only by torchlight. In the centre of the room were two large red velvet seats with a desk separating them, a bookshelf standing behind the desk and various papers strewn across it.

Mr. Sanders walked to the seat behind a desk and plopped himself down, signalling Harry to take the seat across from him. Harry stood and slowly walked over to the seat, still dazed from the strange method of travel.

"Well, Mr. Potter, I believe the easiest place to begin would be by telling you that you are, in fact, a Wizard."

Harry looked puzzled, and began to speak, when he was cut off by a hand from Mr. Sanders.

"Please, Mr. Potter, allow me to finish. You are a human with the capacity to use magic. Magic is a constant force in the world, one that has been around since time immemorial. It is a force that only certain, special people can use. As a Wizard, you have the ability to use magic."

Mr. Sanders gestured for Harry to speak, and he took a moment before asking a question:

"But sir, if I'm a Wizard, how come nobody's told me before?"

Mr. Sanders sighed, his eyebrows creasing slightly in the first display of emotion of the entire day.

"That, Mr. Potter, is an interesting story. One that I, myself, would like the answers to. However, I can answer how we found you now. You see, every magical child below the age of eleven demonstrates some accidental magic before they are trained to control it. Usually, accidental magic does not trigger attention from the wizarding government. However, at 6:13 this morning, you managed to transfigure a dead object into a living one – permanently. This is a very powerful display of accidental magic, and so we were informed."

"You work for the wizarding government? Am I going to be arrested? I didn't mean to do it!"

Mr. Sanders laughed at this, before saying "No, Mr. Potter, you won't be arrested. And no, I don't work for the wizarding government. Who are called the Ministry, by the way."

Harry frowned at this, his brain taking a moment to catch up.

"But…you said—"

"I said that the wizarding government have sensors for this – I didn't say they were the only ones." Mr. Sanders grinned slightly, before continuing "I am a part of an organisation that goes by the name of The Griffon Association."

"But…if you're with the Griffon Assou…Asso….thingy, why am I here?"

"Simple, Mr. Potter. We're going to recruit you."


	2. Chapter 2: Trials and Dumbledores

A/N: Alright then, Chapter 2 ready to go. Hope you enjoy!

-x-

Harry was aware of the figure quietly slinking into his room, and monitored their aura before determining that they were letting out very small amount of excess magic, almost little enough for him to not detect it. He feigned sleep, judging their location while he tightened his grip on the wand under his pillow.

Once he obtained a lock on the figures location, he acted quickly, summoning a quick shield before launching out a quick '_Incendio_' at his target. The brief illumination before his incineration spell hit the shield was all he needed to identify his attacker as Mr. Sanders.

He acted quickly, throwing up his more advanced shields and launching out an array of nasty curses. His mentor merely dodged or redirected them, while keeping up a steady stream of his own curses at the same time.

At one point, a well-timed Evisceration Curse slipped past his shields, and he had to dive to the left to avoid it. Having been hit with that one before and spending a week in the Infirmary, he wasn't too eager to take it again.

He fired back a torrent of low-powered curses, designed to keep his opponent in place, while he quickly ran through his options. He transfigured the chandelier in his room into a spear, which he launched at Sanders.

Sanders transfigured the spear into a foam toy, but that was all the time Harry needed to slip a quick '_Silencio_' past his mentor's shields, temporarily rendering him unable to cast the more complicated curses. That didn't stop the non-verbal ones, however, and he found himself barraged with a creative mix of curses, not one of which would leave him alive for very long.

Finally, Sanders decided to break the silencing charm, and once again began his brutal onslaught of curses. Harry brought up his strongest shield charms to counter them, before putting his remaining power into a final '_Expelliarmus_'.

Sanders shields, having been dropped in favour of a stronger barrage, had no effect on the disarming spell, and his wand flew from his right hand neatly into Harry's left.

Mr. Sanders stood, a passive expression on his face, before he broke out into a massive grin and walked up to Harry, ruffling his hair.

"Well done, m'boy. Oh, and happy birthday."

Harry smiled madly, his birthday temporarily forgotten in the impromptu duel. Harry mentally whooped – he was finally 17, finally able to take the entrance exam and become an official Hit Wizard. Eleven years had passed since Sanders made him the offer of joining the ranks of the elite group of assassins, and Harry had spent them training diligently.

First, they had him learn Occlumency and various low-level charms and hexes. After all, it wouldn't do for him to leak all of their secrets. Even the Master Legilimens, Mr. Aion, couldn't breach his mental shields – it was at this point he was allowed to really progress his education, at 8 years old.

He began learning Potions, Defence against the Dark Arts, Use of the Dark Arts, Magical Theory, Magical Creatures and Legilimency at first. As he improved, he expanded to even more classes.

At the age of 15, he began being trained in Stealth (which involved disillusionment and glamours), Etiquette and Rituals.

Of course, Harry was not a genius, and so he didn't take to all of these subjects. Potions baffled him, for one, and he found himself incapable of brewing some of the highly complicated ones (Like the Restoration Potion, which is used in creating bodies for wandering spirits.) Legilimency was not his favourite subject at all, and he found himself rather incapable in the practical application of it.

However, in some lessons he progressed hugely – he was a master of Stealth, having learnt from a very young age to keep his head down and blend in with the surroundings; DADA and UDA came naturally to him as he found himself a very strong duelist; and Magical Theory, one of the most tedious subjects. Despite the boring nature of the subject, however, he understood the concepts very quickly; possessing a strong mind for logic.

For the rest, he was passable – he wasn't too good at rituals, never having the perfect hand for the carving of runes nor the pronunciation of words, nor did he really enjoy etiquette lessons, finding them just a way of stroking someone's ego. He had been doing all of this, training in all of these extensive subjects, for this very moment.

He entered the Council Hall, the place where the Griffon Trio convened. The Trio functioned in the same way as the Wizengamot, in that they made all major decisions for the Griffon Association and assigned missions obtained from the scouts.

Today, he stood in front of them to be assigned his first mission – this would be his first time in the outside world where he wouldn't be graded.

"Mr. Potter."

Harry stood straight and stared into the eyes of the Head Griffon, his arms behind his back in a respectful position of submission and lack of malicious intent.

"You have successfully completed your training, Mr. Potter. All that is left is your first mission. But before we go into the details of this, it is time to decide upon an alias."

Every member of the Griffon Association has an alias. They obviously couldn't use their real names for missions, and so once you joined the association you left your real name behind and took up the mantle of a new one.

"Thank you, Council. My decision has been made."

"And?"

"I would like to be named 'Mors'."

The Head Griffon's mouth twitched upwards at this, as he nodded his head.

"How unoriginal, Mors, that's just like you."

Harry grinned, before returning to his respectful expression, eyes fixed upon the Head Griffon.

"You are aware of the situation in the outside world, Mors?"

He was. He knew there was an uprising taking place, orchestrated by a man named Lord Voldemort. Research had been conducted as to the man's origins, and it was heavily suspected he was the half-blood by the name of Tom Riddle. The Association liked to have detailed information on all of its potential clients – and enemies. He also knew that the uprising was very close to being successful, having only the magical school, Hogwarts, and its Headmaster Albus Dumbledore in the way.

"I am, sir."

"Your first mission comes from one Lucius Malfoy. He is offering a very tidy figure for the assassination of one Albus Dumbledore."

Harry's eyes widened. Dumbledore was the man who took down the previous Dark Lord, Grindelwald, and he was expected to be able to stand against him? What was the council thinking?

"M-my lords, I….I don't think I can take down someone like him…"

The Head Griffon smirked, amusement dancing in his eyes like fires in a hearth.

"Actually, Mors, I very much believe you can. Now, go. You have seventy-two hours."

-x-

The Griffon Association made its base in a magically expanded building smack dab in the middle of Muggle London. Who would expect one of the oldest groups of Hit Wizards to be residing in the Muggle World? After leaving the nondescript 'clothes shop', Harry quickly disillusioned himself and retrieved his broom, deciding some recon was in order.

He flew to Hogwarts, ensuring to stay out of the wards, and withdrew his Omnioculars. From his position in the Forbidden Forest, he could spy on Dumbledore through his office window. Currently he was sorting through a stack of papers while looking thoroughly forlorn, the humour in his face that was prevalent in all of his pictures absent.

Zooming in, Harry noticed a very recognisable face on the wall. A young six year old boy was depicted, a lightning bolt scar running down his forehead. Harry realised with a shock that it was a picture of him, and zoomed in even further.

The picture, which was in fact a poster, stated that he was 'The-Boy-Who-Lived'. It also advertised a 70,000 galleon reward for his capture alive. Harry paled, because everyone knew what the Boy-Who-Lived did – he just didn't know it was him.

A plan began forming in Harry's head – after all, if he was the Boy-Who-Lived, he was Dumbledore's missing golden boy. Of course he would be allowed in, hopefully close-quarters, too. He reared his broom, stashed his Omnioculars into his satchel, and sped off to the entrance of the great castle.

As he passed through the wards, an alarm went off in Albus' office. He signalled Fawkes with a hand signal, who ported him to the Entrance Hall in a flash of phoenix fire. Drawing his wand, he levelled it at the door, and they burst open to reveal a dead man walking.

"Albus Dumbledore, I presume?"

Dumbledore stood wide-eyed, mouth gaping as the saviour of the Wizarding World, thought dead for over eleven years, strode through the doors to the entrance hall as if it was nothing. The remainder of the Auror forces levelled their wands at him, before he signalled they lower them.

"M-my boy…is it really you, Harry?"

Harry grimaced. 'Well', he thought, 'there goes my anonymity'.

"Yes, Albus. I'm back."

Dumbledore felt joy rocket through his heart. For him, the war was over eleven years ago, and he had to fight with everything he had just to keep the people he loved alive. The years of strife had changed him from the manipulative old coot he used to be, to a dismayed old man fighting for survival.

"Where have you been, my boy?"

Harry regarded the Auror unit with a suspicious glance, before he motioned to Dumbledore that he didn't trust others hearing this.

Dumbledore acknowledged his worries, and led him to his office. He walked inside, taking his place at the old, worn desk and ignoring the gasps from various portraits behind him.

"Harry, my lad, where have you-"

Harry drew his wand, levelling it at Dumbledore, a triumphant look in his eyes.

"Sorry, Albus, it's nothing personal. Lucius Malfoy sends his regards."

The twinkle that had been briefly reignited in the man's eyes vanished, replaced with a look of utter betrayal and resignation. In a flash, Dumbledore had drawn his wand and held it aloft, preparing for a duel.

"Please, Harry, don't make this mistake. Come back to us. The Light needs you."

Harry quickly disillusioned him to this possibility, initiating the fight with a simple Blood Boiling curse. Dumbledore redirected it, letting it hit the wall next to him, before responding with a quick '_Expelliarmus_'.

Harry followed this up with a simple shield charm, and began his onslaught of deadly and unforgiving curses. He worked against Dumbledore's age, hitting hard and fast with a slew of low-powered curses and hexes, attempting to catch him off guard and tire him out.

Unfortunately, Dumbledore was not a feeble old man, and retaliated with vigor. Harry soon found himself on the defensive, working hard to defend from some very typically 'Light' spells, none of them designed to kill but to immobilise.

Harry brought up his strongest shielding charms, muttering a quick '_Portis Temporus_' to lengthen its life, he began transfiguring items around the room into animated golems. First he tried Dumbledore's chair, which was quickly blown to pieces by a '_Reducto_', before following it up with one of his favourite – the chandelier into a spear.

Unfortunately, Dumbledore turned his advantage against him, and sent the transfigured spear right back at him. Harry had no time to dodge, and in this confined space he would have no opportunity. Instead, he sent a quick '_Diffindo_' at the spear head, separating it from the length before catching it, cutting up his left hand.

"Clever." muttered Dumbledore, before he fired off a quick '_Stupefy_'. Harry countered this with ease, deflecting it out of the window and following it up with his own disarming spell. It hit Dumbledore's shield and fizzled out.

Progressively feeling out of his depth, Harry changed tactics. He began launching the strongest curses he knew at Dumbledore, hoping the sheer power behind them would penetrate his defences. Alas, Dumbledore's shields were insanely powerful, and so Harry had only one option left – it would require the remainder of his power, but it was his only hope.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

The blinding green light shot towards Albus, easily piercing his shields and heading straight for his heart. At the last minute, Dumbledore summoned a nondescript shield – bearing the Hogwarts coat of arms. The green curse hit the shield, and it shuddered with the power.

Suddenly, the shield opened up, revealing a core of pure diamond infused with the green energy of the Killing Curse. The diamond refracted the light of the curse a hundredfold, causing it to shine with unequalled intensity.

A pure golden light shot from the shield, bypassing Harry's shields completely and hitting him in the centre of his chest. He struggled, but felt locked in place by the blinding golden light, and everything fell away…

-x-

**A/N: I quite enjoyed writing this chapter, probably because I absolutely love writing combat chapters. Anyway, I managed to get to 2k+ words on this one. In the future, I'm sure I'll be writing much more. I'm holding myself at min. 1.5k words a chapter with this story, at least. **


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